


Eyes On Me

by context_please



Series: Homeward [1]
Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Angst, Baby Raptors, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Domestic, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gen, Hey look I wrote my own original fanfiction, Owen Grady is the best alpha, Raptor Feels, Slice of Life, Sorry Not Sorry, Violence, What do you mean this isn't related to Macx's Pushing Boundaries series?, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4399397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/context_please/pseuds/context_please
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times the raptors look at him when he tells them to, and four times they don’t need prompting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am aware there's another fic with this name. However, this story did not want to be called anything else. I'm sorry (not really).
> 
> Did I just write my own Jurassic World fic? I most certainly did! I needed to find an outlet for my intense feels after watching the movie, and this is what happened. I actually finished this before I found Macx's series, and have been a bit nervous to put it out there. 
> 
> Hope you like it (or whatever)!

The egg is shaking gently, cracks spreading along its speckled surface.

Owen Grady watches, sitting as close to the egg as the lab staff will let him. He’s ridiculously excited, for someone who used to be a soldier. His buddies in the Navy would tell him he’s a crazy stupid son of a bitch. To be fair, he’s spent a good ten years training dolphins. He would laugh in their face.

The egg topples over, miraculously intact. Owen reaches for it. His hands tingle under the heat lamp. He scrapes the surface of the egg with his fingers.

Something smacks his flesh by the elbow and he yanks his hands back. The lab assistant is pissed.

‘Don’t make me kick you out,’ she snaps.

Owen does his best puppy impression, whines, ‘But –‘

She glares at him. There’s a stegosaurus hatching in a couple of minutes and she has to be there. He knows that. But this is the raptor he’s waited months for.

The anticipation is killing him.

The baby raptor is stuck. She claws at the shell but the egg is tough and stays solid under her talons. He can hear the scraping from where he sits. The lab assistant glares at him again.

Then finally, _finally_ , the egg splits.

A spindly leg pushes through the offending barrier. Owen knows that leg will propel the raptor to speeds fast enough to rival most scooters. He knows the hooked talon will hold her to a helpless dino as she eats it alive. He knows the heights she will leap.

It’s just that she’s adorable.

Suddenly the egg is in shards around her, and she’s blinking into the heat lamp. She really is tiny: lean and sleek. Her claws are wicked sharp already. Her teeth are primed for use. But she’s blinking those huge amber eyes right into the heat lamp, irises narrowed to slits, yellows and oranges dancing around them. Blue streaks down her sides, as if someone had applied a layer of white paint and painted cobalt blue over it without bothering to be neat. The colour pools around the corner of her eyes and flows down her neck.

Her name seems obvious at this point.

_Fuck it_. Owen reaches out to the baby raptor – _his_ baby raptor – and plucks an egg shard from her tail. He’s slow, careful not to startle her, but she’s fascinated by his hand. He gently separates more egg shards from her back, where she can’t reach, and hums quietly to fill the silence. He doesn’t know what he’s humming – he’s not really paying attention.

Blue nuzzles his hand, scenting him and touching him all in one go. Her skin is scaly under his, smooth and warm from the egg. She rubs past his palm again and again, like a cat. Her chest is rumbling, little growls coming from her razor-filled mouth. They aren’t aggressive, merely happy and slightly curious.

He’s besotted.

The excitement wells up in his chest again, but he quickly pushes it down. Animals can feel emotional energy: he knows this. If a trainer is anxious their animal is too. It’s simple, really. So he compartmentalizes, puts the excitement in a box to be reopened later, and calms himself.

Owen may not _actually_ know what he’s doing, but as long as he believes it Blue will too.

He becomes a space-heater of calm. Her confusion lessens. She chirps happily, birdlike.

The first words she hears aren’t her name. They aren’t senseless cooing.

He says,

‘Eyes on me.’

 

 

 

 

Raptor socialization involves a lot of biting, scratching, and general viciousness. Owen learns this over a particularly stressful weekend in the lab. They’ve set up a mini-enclosure for his baby raptors a few doors down from the incubator his fourth egg still cooks in.

His newest additions, Charlie and Delta, are only a few days old. They’re even tinier than he remembered. Blue is three months older than her sisters, and she’s much bigger. She’s as big as a fox now, and twice as cunning.

He loves her for it.

Blue is intrigued by her new siblings, playful with them. She bullies them a little bit but he lets her. He needs her support as the beta of their ragtag pack. Plus, its hilarious to watch her berate her sisters.

Owen isn’t worried about his status being threatened. He knows Blue likes him the most. He’s her favourite. She is always close by, always at his side, even now. Her sisters are wrestling and Blue just wants him to stroke down her spine.

Charlie and Delta are getting vicious. They’re evenly matched in strength and neither of them can get the upper hand. Charlie’s pale olive skin is just starting to show darker mossy stripes from the base of her skull to the tip of her tail. Delta’s green reminds him of shades in the fern and her stripes look just like it. The markings on her legs are arms have faded but those on her head, neck, back, and tail remain. They’re very similar, those two. At times like this Owen’s not sure whether it’s a good or bad thing.

Delta’s finally managed to get the upper hand but she’s frustrated. They’ve been wrestling for so long it’s not playful anymore. The annoyance at their stalemate has translated to pent-up aggression, and Delta’s not joking around. Her arched talon is rotating downwards, hooking into Charlie’s skin.

The gravity of the situation hits him. Charlie can’t survive a blow like that and Delta knows it. He’s spent too much time with other groups of raptors to let that happen. Seen too many dolphins and raptors die on his watch, tearing each other apart. Blue picks up on the tension and snarls quietly, back twitching.

‘Delta, Charlie,’ he barks, voice stern and calm, hand in a stop gesture. ‘Eyes on me.’

Their eyes are on him instantly.

Shit. He forgets how fast they learn. The girls know their names already. Owen’s proud. He needs to stop underestimating his raptors.

Owen snaps his fingers as Delta. He gestures to her, invoking her training. They’d started on day one, just like Blue, and they’re getting better. Delta pushes away from Charlie, grumbling. Charlie stands up, ready to pounce on her sister in retribution.

They’re just like a bunch of human kids, he swears to God. It’s frustrating and endlessly hilarious.

Owen whistles sharply. ‘Eyes on me,’ he repeats.

Charlie and Delta look him in the eye. He can feel Blue’s on him too. She’s been taught to do that since day one, and he’s proud she listens even when he’s not addressing her.

They hold their positions long enough to endure a scolding from their alpha. When Charlie starts to get twitchy from standing still so long, Owen lowers his hand.

He smiles. ‘Good girls,’ he says, voice warm.

Charlie and Delta spend the next hour groveling. Blue looks on imperiously, amusement in her eyes.

 

 

 

 

His girls may be deadly killers with keen intelligence just itching to eat the intern who always leans too far over the railing of the catwalk, but they’re his girls. He looks after them and they don’t disembowel him.

It’s a good relationship, really. Better than that one date he had with Claire Dearing.

Owen strokes Blue’s cheek slowly. Calmly. Her skin is barely touchable between the metal bars surrounding her snout. The contraption was designed to keep her teeth out of the equation. She can probably still worm a claw between the body cage and the opening around her neck. Blue is clever enough to succeed. They both know it, but he’s still her favourite so he doesn’t worry.

Echo watches him. She’s standing right behind the barred gate, head cocked as she watches her alpha and beta. Sunlight springs off her beige hide, lending more colour to the faint blue-green stripes over her sides. Owen knows she’s watching him. He always knows where his girls are, makes an effort to be aware and in control at all times.

It’s been two years since Blue hatched – it seems like so little and so long all at once. He loves his raptors a little more each day but he can’t be complacent. Owen knows his girls are deadly and volatile. His control over his emotions has vastly improved. His body language rarely gives him away.

Raptors smell fear. He learnt to dispose of his long ago.

So he knows when Echo takes a step closer to the gate. He can’t hear her steps and he can’t smell her, but he can see her in the corner of his eye, feel her presence. Barry thinks he’s insane. ‘You can’t feel their presence,’ he insists, a dog with a bone. ‘You need a beer.’ And to be fair, alcohol fueled relaxation _is_ a good way to spend his downtime. Owen’s not crazy though.

Echo’s snarling quietly, muscles in her jaw twitching. She’s aggressive. It’s obvious in the way she stares directly at Blue, but that’s not everything. Echo is envious of the attention Owen gives his beta. They’ve had this stalemate before. Echo is the youngest of the pack, the lowest ranking. His girls get along – he makes sure they do – yet they are hyper aware of their place in the hierarchy. It makes Echo twitchy, jealous, possessive. She’s coming closer to the fence, shoulders rolling back and head jutting forward. She crouches; drops lower to the ground. Her mouth is open a few inches, doesn’t close. Echo is posturing.

It’s not the first time she’s done so. Owen initially hoped she was going through a teenage phase, angry at the world and her sisters for no other reason than _growing up_. That’s not the case. She’s stronger than Delta yet she ranks lower in the pack. It frustrates her, builds into aggression. Delta’s smarter than her, more cunning. She’s kept her rank through her brains. The two of them constantly jockey for the one position. As alpha he shuts their bullshit down before they can kill each other.

Beneath his hand Blue’s snout vibrates. Her growls are too quiet to distinguish from her sister’s. They’re warning each other off. Blue is tense and rigid, leaking hostility. She may be his beta but her position in the pack always has her on alert. She is always the first to act. It’s not because she’s aggressive. Her swiftness is borne of the need to be the first. Raptors have no concept of leading from the rear.

You lead from the front or not at all.

This is the most important lesson he learnt from his girls. When they got too big to follow him around like obedient ducklings, Blue had challenged his authority. He still carries the reminders of his strength – three jagged scores spilling over his shoulder. On warm days he lounges outside the paddock clad only in a singlet. The scars remind the pack of his status as their leader, their alpha. He has proven himself worthy.

Blue hasn’t challenged him since.

The second thing he learns saves his life more than once. It’s how he tells when his girls are serious. If they look him in the eye, he’s fucked. That said; he knows he orders them to do that very thing, but they establish eye contact on his terms. It’s how he’s certain he has their full attention. When the raptors look him straight in the eye without prompting he stops playing around. One day it will come to a test of wills, Owen and his girls, and they will win. He realized that the first time they challenged him. Owen pushes the knowledge aside – it’s always there, in the back of his mind, but he’s not waiting.

Blue and Echo are looking each other right in the eye. Echo drops closer to the ground, legs coiled. Blue makes to pull back, neck stiff and ready to yank.

He whistles sharply, pulling the clicker from his pocket and triggering it for good measure. Echo jumps, startled. The scare chases away some of her aggression. She’s off-balance when he whistles again.

Owen reaches into himself and projects his calm to her. She can sense it. Her posture relaxes slightly, shoulders rolling forward. Her mouth is closed. The alpha has mollified her for now but she’ll challenge Blue again.

He says,

‘Eyes on me.’

 

 

 

 

He’s always learning.

Owen Grady had been no cop out in school. He’d got his degree, enlisted as an officer in the Navy. And while his girls have taught him so many important lessons, the Navy did their fair share too.

On the first day of basic he’d been a string bean. Owen isn’t exactly tall, but at that time he counted every single one of his ribs each morning. It became a kind of ritual. As a kid he’d been heavier than his classmates. Puberty hit and he’d filled out vertically but never managed to put any substantial mass on since. His first day at basic was hell. The guys he was supposed to fight alongside poked him mercilessly for being gangly. His sergeants swore he wouldn’t last the week. After a day of hell, spirits crushed and will flagging, Owen realized something. If his fellow cadets wouldn’t take him seriously, then he would have to change. So he changed. He put on muscle. He laughed in the faces of those who doubted him. He became a douchebag, for lack of a better term. To this day, he’s not proud of it. But then, that hadn’t really been him.

When he rolled out with his unit, he became someone else. He became the comic relief, always offering a witty commentary on current events. He kept his buddies positive, gave them a shoulder. They wouldn’t cry on it, he knew that, but they did lean on him on bad nights.

Owen Grady learned to adapt. He’s so used to putting on an act, changing himself. Physical or mental, it doesn’t matter. Pushing down his true feelings and putting on a mask: that’s what he does. He does it automatically; started the moment Blue struggled to emerge from her ovular prison. His mask is part of his control. He needs it to maintain alpha status.

To the rest of the park staff he’s just the idiot crazy enough to train velociraptors. He’s a military man with no brains in his head. Owen Grady, the guy that says nothing smart. Claire is the only one who _might_ take him seriously.

When he’s alone, he lets the pretenses drop.

Almost all of the other trainers and support staff are at home, enjoying their day off. It’s Wednesday, the slowest day of the week, and Owen often spends the time feeding his girls and watching them interact. Wednesdays are a time of peace and quiet. He always spends a couple of hours reaffirming their bond through physical touch. His girls love it. Owen spends the most time with Blue, murmuring quietly to her. He tells her about the latest interns; they loiter at his favourite restaurant, wide-eyed and gawking. The mosa trainer is fucking with him again. She tells the kids wild tales about Owen and his girls, including but not limited to crazy claims of a mental bond, recounts of a time they ‘marked him as their own’, and some rather disturbing raptor erotica. Vic Hoskins forwarded him an email exactly once, and Owen was mildly freaked out when he found a _rather detailed_ story about his girls ripping off his clothing and having their way with him. He still hasn’t found who wrote it, but he swears it’s the mosa trainer.

He checks the perimeter of the enclosure next. Raptors are clever. His girls have tested the fences before, and he knows they’ll do it again. He loves them but they are a handful. Owen makes sure to scatter the days and times he checks the enclosure. He cannot be predictable. The girls will study him and predict his movements. He has to be on the ball.

Owen walks the perimeter of the enclosure. He’s close to the fence. He has to be, to see whether the girls have dug holes by the fence posts or attempted to claw at the grating. It’s a long walk. The perimeter is easily fifteen clicks all the way around.

Blue and the girls follow him. They always do. They’re on the other side of the fence, of course, but they like to accompany him. It’s the only time they get to be a pack. He leads and they follow. Charlie spends her time rumbling contentedly, quiet and ever-present. Delta’s eyes are half-lidded, trusting the alpha to alert her of any danger. Echo bounces between Charlie and Blue, chasing a bright blue butterfly. Owen knows she’s quick enough to catch it, but she’s drawing it out. She’ll get bored soon enough and the butterfly will be nothing but candy to her.

Blue is clicking and chuffing gently to her sisters, keeping them in check. She has one eye on Owen and the other on the fence. Sunlight catches on her back, turning her blue markings vivid cobalt. Unlike her sisters, her markings have been the same since day one. He knows the geneticists changed the formula after Blue was more intelligent than they anticipated. He thinks that’s why Charlie, Delta, and Echo are so different to his beta. They are green where she is blue. Their markings faded and changed and Blue’s never did.

Owen blinks the light from his eyes and smiles. The sun is warm on his skin, soaking through the thin material of his singlet. The claw marks over his shoulder have long since healed. Every day the skin gets lighter, the scores thinner. It’s a good day. There’s no one here but his girls and music is playing over his headphones.

He runs a hand through his hair, sweat clinging to his fingers. He doesn’t usually listen to music on his patrol. Today it just feels right. He’s letting his masks down, he’s calm, and he’s chilling out. The headphones are light in his ears, one hooked through the strap of his singlet. He’s still listening to his surroundings but he’s not overly worried.

The riff to _Thunderstruck_ explodes into his ears. He loves this song, has since his dad took him on a road trip with nothing but Owen and _AC/DC_ to keep him company. He’s reminded of that now. It’s just him and his girls, nothing else.

His hips are moving in time, shoulders moving independently. Head bopping up and down, he’s mouthing the words _I was caught in the middle of a railroad truck_.

The music is rising in intensity and Owen is starting to dance properly. He kicks his feet out in a Michael Jackson move and pulls his leg up at the knee, flinging an arm out to accompany it. His head is still bopping, and there’s a grin spreading across his face. He throws caution to the wind, starts singing. ‘You’ve been _thunderstruck_!’

He’s playing air guitar and singing the riff, complete with ridiculous pelvic thrusting, when he notices his girls are not beside him. He finishes his solo and twirls, Jackson style, to face them.

Blue is looking him right in the eye.

Any other day and he would be terrified. Not today.

She’s not aggressive. Her head is tilted to the side, ever the curious cat. Charlie and Delta peek out from behind their sister, watching with single-minded focus as his hips move. Echo bounds closer, her head starting to bob along with his.

It adorably hilarious.

Owen bursts out laughing, completely thrown by her actions. The guffaws climb out of him and to the raptors. He bops his head and moves his feet playfully and Charlie and Echo repeat his actions. Repeating the action once more, the raptors are perfectly in time with him. Their fast learning abilities apply to dancing, apparently.

Owen is still laughing, a manic grin splitting his face. Delta’s tail is moving with the minute sway of her hips and Blue is bobbing her head. He laughs delightedly.

Owen sings his heart out. ‘ _Thunderstruck_!’

Blue opens her mouth and takes a breath. She trills and clicks with him as he sings _thunderstruck_ again and again.

His girls are the best.

He strikes a pose as the song finishes. Echo startles but recovers quickly and drops into her play pose, holding it.

Owen grins. He hasn’t felt this good in years. ‘Slick pose, Echo,’ he praises.

She barks excitedly at him, clearly wanting more.

Only too happy to oblige, Owen laughs. ‘If you insist.’

He unplugs his headphones and turns the speaker up as loud as it will go. _TNT_ starts playing.

‘Let’s go, ladies,’ he says, using some fancy footwork as he walks.

Blue hurries to catch up. There’s a bounce in her step. He hasn’t seen that in a long time. Opening her mouth, Blue lets out a coo, perfectly matching him. She sings with him for the rest of the patrol.

 

 

 

 

Vic Hoskins is a dick.

He’s the kind of guy that would have picked on kids like Gray when he was a child. He’s like Owen’s first drill sergeant – all scathing hatred under the guise of military protocol. Vic Hoskins picks on the little guy. Intimidates them.

In this case, that means Owen.

He’s a Navy guy – he knows false bravado when he sees it. Hoskins radiates it, always acting self-assured, hands permanently fused to his hips. His shoulders are narrower than Owen’s, and he’s shorter. With the beer gut and beady brown eyes, he shouldn’t be intimidating. But he’s been in charge of InGen for well over a decade –he’ll do anything to get what he wants.

Including threatening the girls.

Owen is ready to kill him. The aggression is building in his system, stiffening his sore muscles, erasing the pain of the graze down his side. He shouldn’t have any adrenaline left in his system but its coursing through his veins again. Owen sat still with the jaws of the Indominus only a few feet away. He can’t stand still now. Vic’s posturing puts him on edge, muscles in his arms twitching as he restrains himself. He knows he can beat Hoskins in a fistfight. He’s killed men with his bare hands. But Vic Hoskins controls the InGen forces, and for now they matter. They can get the civilians off this fucking island.

He’s ready to crawl into bed and stay there permanently.

It’s a bad idea to set the girls free. Not only does it go against everything Owen’s ever learned about them, but his instincts are screaming. Something tells him the girls will be safer in their paddock. That going to face the Indominus Rex is a spectacularly bad idea.

The girls are twitchy. As he straps the camera onto Blue’s head, she barks. He can feel the agitation rolling off of her. She’s not agitated at him – quite the opposite. The anger in Owen’s frame, and probably his scent as well, has spread to the pack. She’s furious, ready to protect the alpha against anything, no matter the cost. Vic Hoskins has always pissed her off. They’re all in danger but that doesn’t change a thing. Given the chance, she’ll tear his throat out. Owen won’t be sad to see him go.

Charlie and Echo are furious, letting out enraged snarls and angry screeches. Echo calms when he comes to her, but shakes her head testily when the camera goes on. Charlie actually flashes her teeth at him, pissed. The buzz of human activity is overwhelming. Owen strokes the ridges right behind her eye – her favourite spot. She calms a little, chirps quietly at him. ‘I know, Charlie,’ he says, voice gentle. ‘I know.’

Delta’s behavior is the strangest.

She’s aggressive, sure, but he thinks it’s because the pack is on alert. Her eyes are darting around, uneasy. Yet, she’s not focused on the people swarming around her. Owen’s girls are all feeling this unease, this twitchiness. It’s probably why the aggression set in so quickly. It’s barely noticeable, beneath Blue’s air of command, Charlie’s temperament and Echo’s twitching, but it is there.

They know the Indominus is close. That’s the only explanation Owen has. They must know she’s psychotic, abnormal. She must be closing in. A raptor is a hunter – aware, intelligent, cunning. They know every trick in the book. And they know when they’re being hunted.

Owen forces the agitation from his system. He’s still pissed at Hoskins – always is, really – but now is not the time. The pack needs him.

The lump of flesh in his hands is heavy, and it’s starting to stink. Blood has clotted around the scales and torn muscles, the white skin turning greyer by the minute. The tracker is still buried under the ridge over where her spine is, blue and blinking and furious.

The pack scream in fury when he approaches. Delta’s eyes are filled with fear. They know the Idominus is bigger, stronger, crazier. But they are swifter, smarter. They can do this, if they stick together.

Bike roaring beneath him, Owen rides out. Barry’s behind him, as always, watching his back.

The metal gates crash open.

His girls whine and click, making low sounds like whales. He’s heard them before, but only from the other side of the fence. Owen sometimes takes his bike out, racing around the paddock. He skirts close to the perimeter fence, and they keep up with him, running with their alpha. He touches them before and after, reaffirming their bond, telling his girls how great they are.

They’ve never run free with him like this.

The girls flank him, place him in the middle. Hoskins makes some warning comment in his ear. Owen ignores him. The middle is the place of honour. It’s an acknowledgement of his leadership. He keeps calm, radiates control. This may be the coolest moment of his life.

Behind him, Charlie breaks off slightly, pulling back. Owen can see the start of a movement to flank the ATV – the one with Vic Hoskins’ ugly ass in it. Any other day he would let her, but he needs her focused on the task at hand.

He whistles sharply, authoritative. ‘Charlie,’ he barks, raptor-like.

‘Eyes on me,’ he commands.

His girls fall into step beside him.

 

 

 

 

When a raptor looks at you, you’re fucked.

He told Vic Hoskins the same thing only hours ago. He learned that lesson nearly three years prior. The scars on his forearms are physical proof.

When she was little, still learning as much as he was, Blue fixed her eyes straight on him. Owen hadn’t asked her to. Stupidly, he dismissed it as childlike curiosity. Blue was like that sometimes.

She went straight for his face.

He caught her with his forearms, fending her off. Blood was streaking off his arms and onto the floor by the time he wrapped a hand around her neck. He squeezed threateningly, letting her know he was serious. She spent the rest of the day with her eyes on the floor. He wrapped his burning forearms with strips of his vest. She attacked him because he wasn’t a strong enough alpha. He became prey for a split second, and that was enough. That day, Owen learned his lessons. Lead from the front. Always be aware. Always be in control.

This bond won’t last forever.

His girls are standing tall, stiff and cautious. They’re curious. Indominus Rex is staring down at them, cold intelligence in her eyes. They’re communicating; clicks and coos passing between them.

Indominus growls.

The girls turn. The curiosity is gone from their frames. Blue drops low on her haunches. She’s looking right at him.

Owen wasn’t waiting for the day the bond isn’t enough. He wishes it wasn’t today. He’d always hoped it would be one day in the paddock when he could deal with the heartbreak by getting eaten, mauled, or crawling back to his trailer and crying himself to sleep.

He knew it would come to a test of wills. He didn’t think it would be the Indominus that won.

His girls, the ones he raised since birth, his life for three years, are looking straight at him. Pain slices through his chest, sharper than a raptor’s claw. His heart pumps thickly, fear and hurt weighing it down.

He’s fucked.

 

 

 

 

Owen Grady has feelings.

Contrary to popular belief, he is still human. He just pushes his emotions down and feels them another day, when he can afford to. It’s a strategy that got him through the Navy, and he’s still alive so he’d say it’s holding up in the face of the Indominus Rex.

See, he’s feeling a lot of things right now. Terror is warring with pride, rattling around in his chest. His girls chose him. They’re fighting for Owen Grady, their true alpha, and shaking off Indominus’ control. Echo, Delta and Blue are standing firm, blind rage wiped clean. The cold calculation in their gazes gives Owen hope. This is a hunt now, and as much as the Indominus Rex smells like predator, the raptors are smarter.

It’s so odd. Charlie isn’t here. She disappeared in a ball of flame. Owen doubts he’ll even find her ashes. His intestines are heavy with loss, but mostly with regret. Charlie stood, growling in his face, tightly coiled and ready to spring, and he couldn’t shoot her. Sweet Charlie, who loved her sisters so much she used to give her food to them. Charlie, who brought him mice and lizards when they went on perimeter patrol. She just wanted her alpha to be happy and healthy. Delta was always the more cautious of the two, but Charlie’s aggression was born from the need to protect her pack. Protect the alpha.

Owen Grady looked into her soul and couldn’t shoot her. He couldn’t shoot any of his girls.

His gut aches. Someone stabbed him there, once, on a particularly risky mission. This doesn’t feel anything like that. No; it feels like his kidneys are being eaten by Prometheus’ eagle; his liver burns excruciatingly slow; his intestines are crawling sluggishly.

He forces every single one of his feelings into a box as he steps out to take pot shots at the Indominus Rex.

The world is a flurry of activity around him, raptors left and right, and Rexy just strolls in to save the fucking day, as she always does. He’s functioning on instinct, not really processing what’s happening. He sees Delta get thrown to the ground like a plaything. Sees Echo meet a fiery end just like her sister. Sees Blue and Rexy make an epic team and push the Indominus Rex back.

Owen ducks behind cover as the Indominus stumbles toward his position. She’s busy attempting to shake off Blue and keeping Rexy’s jaws at bay. She’s not succeeding in either endeavor.

A soft chirp sounds behind him.

It’s Delta. She’s still alive. Vic Hoskins’ blood has dried on her chin, barely distinguishable from the red that gushes from somewhere between her teeth. She chirps pitifully at him.

He says, ‘Oh, Delta,’ and crashes to his knees beside her.

Desperately trying to wiggle closer to him, Delta’s chest is heaving. Red froth lines her flared nostrils, bubbling up with each breath. She’s on her stomach, probably where she landed. The leg he can see is bent at an impossibly wrong angle, twisted and mangled. Her deadly sickle-claw is missing, blood oozing sluggishly from the wound. Owen can’t see her forelegs, but he knows they are underneath her body. They were probably crushed under her own weight. Her ribcage is higher than it should be, the bones pushing at the skin as if they’re trying to get out. Her beautiful green stripes are barely visible under the Indominus’ gouges and bullet wounds. The red puddle beneath her is growing.

She chirps desperately at him. It’s exactly like when she was only a week old, when she lost sight of him. There’s mourning in her voice. It’s like he can hear her, clear as day in his head. She lost her sisters and she can’t move and why isn’t Blue here and why is she so cold and –

Warm water drips onto his hands. Owen’s eyes are blurry, and he blinks to clear his vision. Intellectually, he knows he’s crying, but he doesn’t really notice. Delta is dying and she’s terrified. She’s so terrified.

Oh god. She can’t die. Delta is pack. His pack. He’s been with her every day since the day she was born and –

Her eyes fix on him, glittering in pain and fear and grief. The chirping is still going. All she wants is her alpha, just like when she was tiny enough to snuggle into the internal pocket of his vest.

Owen’s hands must feel like fire on her too-cold skin. He strokes all around the ridges of her eye and behind the hinge of her jaw, exactly the way used to. The touch is warm, strong, assured. The touch of her alpha. The touch of a man that is always there.

She’s still gazing at him. The emptiness, the hopelessness, is leaving her. She is with her alpha. The pain remains, the grief glued to it, but the terror is gone. He strokes over her skin and hums to her, ignoring the battle going on in the background.

Delta is purring ever so slightly, tiny vibrations under the palm of his hand. She loved it the most when he hummed to her. When her sisters lost interest, she would prod him to continue his endless melody.

‘You did good, Delta,’ he whispers to her, throat constricted. ‘You did _so good_ ,’ he confesses, like it’s their little secret. She understands. It’s in the glint of her eye, the nudge of her muzzle against his hand. But her eyelids are drooping. She blinks rapidly to keep herself awake, to respect her alpha. Her vision is cloudy with pain and she still looks him in the eye, awaiting the alpha’s command.

He loves her so much. She’s not gone yet and he can already feel a Delta-shaped chunk of his heart tearing away.

‘You’ll be okay,’ he promises. (Lies.) ‘It’s over now. Go to sleep, Delta. You’ll be just fine.’

She whines exhaustedly at him.

Her eyes close.

 

 

 

 

He’s empty. Numb.

The Indominus Rex shrieked as the mosa dragged her to her death. Blue and Rexy watched, still and silent. They looked how he feels.

Now? There’s nothing left. The buildings are still standing around them but Jurassic World has crumbled. His girls are dead. Delta’s body rests beside human corpses, the only time they are ever equal.

In the end, all blood is red.

Blue’s eyes are locked onto his. Owen can see the complexity behind those eyes. The grief. The intelligence. The loneliness.

They’ve both lost everything.

He reaches out to her, scraping a comforting palm against her face as he unclips the camera. It falls to the ground, loud in the post-battle silence. She chirps softly at him.

Blue won’t attack him. He knows that. She put everything on the line – lost her sisters, her pack: her home. But she hasn’t lost her alpha. They need each other, and he never wants to let her go.

She looks him in the eye, and he’s safe. He’s the object of her focus, but he’s pack. Owen Grady is her alpha, and that will never change. He has to go away now, but he’ll be back within a week. He can’t survive without Blue. Doesn’t want to.

He looks into the eyes of a raptor and feels a bit less alone.

The rest of his life is fucked… But this?

Maybe he can keep this.

**Author's Note:**

> This movie broke me a little. 
> 
> And this fic started as a two-plus-two sort of set and doubled, obviously. That's what I get for writing about the raptors.
> 
> Please do leave a comment if you enjoyed! (We can share our grief.)
> 
>  
> 
> ETA: I have connected this story to my other Jurassic World fic 'Chasin Home' because they are set in the same universe.


End file.
